Having reached Rochefort’s house, he was admitted by the concierge. He passed upstairs to the rooms occupied by the Count, ordered the valet to take his place on the stairs, and should any callers arrive, to show them up. Then, having shown his credentials as an agent of the Hôtel de Sartines, he began his perquisition. There was nothing to find and he expected nothing, yet he proceeded on his business with the utmost care and the most painstaking minuteness. In the middle of his work, he was interrupted by the valet, who knocked at the door. “Monsieur,” said the valet, “there is a young girl who has called. She is waiting outside.” “Ah, she is waiting—well, show her in.” The man disappeared, and returned in a moment ushering in Javotte. Lavenne looked up from some papers which he was examining. Javotte’s appearance rather astonished him. Young, fresh, and evidently respectable, he could not for a moment place her among possible visitors to Rochefort. Then it occurred to him that she might be the maid of some society woman sent with a message, and, without rising from his seat, he pointed to a chair. “What is your business here, mademoiselle?” asked Lavenne. “My business, monsieur, is to pay the last month’s wages of Monsieur de Rochefort’s valet. I have the money here with me. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?” “You are addressing an agent of the Hôtel de Sartines. Place the money on the table, mademoiselle, and it shall be handed to the valet. And now a moment’s conversation with you, please. Who, may I ask, entrusted you with this commission?” “Monsieur,” replied Javotte, “that is my business entirely.” Lavenne leaned back in his chair. “Mademoiselle, I am going to ask you a question. Are you a friend of Monsieur de Rochefort?” “Indeed, I am, monsieur.” “Well, then, if you are a friend of his, I may tell you that I also am his friend, though I am, at the present moment, making an examination of his effects. So in his interests please be frank with me.” Javotte looked at the quiet and self-contained man before her. Youth and Innocence, those two great geniuses, proclaimed him trustworthy, and she cast away her reserve. “Well, monsieur, what do you want me to say?” “Just this, I want you to tell me what you know of this gentleman. What you say may not be worth a _denier_ to me, or it may be useful. You need say, moreover, nothing to his disadvantage, if you choose. Well?” “I know nothing to his disadvantage, monsieur. He is the bravest man in the world, the most kind, and he saved me but the other night from two men who would have done me an injury——” Then catching fire, she told volubly the whole story of the occurrence on the night of the Duc de Choiseul’s ball. Lavenne listened attentively. Sartines had already given him Camus’ story of the killing of Choiseul’s agent. Javotte was now giving him the true story. He instantly saw the facts of the case, and the character of Camus.